One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: A hockey player and an underpaid model. Friends for years, but both on the downside of life. Novak can't get a contract anymore, and Branko can't tolerate the sexual harrassment at his workplace. Why is it always one step forward, but two steps back?


Well, here's a new story I'm going to work on. It's a story based around the careers and lives of housemates Branko Njegos (Montenegro) and Novak Novkovic (Serbia). The pairings in here will be introduced later.

**Note**; there is some minor nudity in this chapter. If there's anyone who can't handle that, there's your warning. Also, there's some sexual harassment and harsh language in here. Yet another warning.

**xxx**

His hands gripped the dumbbells tightly as his lifted them in an alternating pattern. Left, right, left right, left right… Sweat dripped down his tanned face and body, stopping once they reached the waistband of his athletic shorts and soaking into the fabric, or dripping off of his skin onto the floor of the air-conditioned workout room. The man's messy brown hair was matted by sweat, and his pale green eyes were closed.

A knock on the doorway came and he stopped lifting for a moment. The man in the doorway smiled slightly.

"You workout far more than you need to, Branko." The man said. Branko chuckled, setting the dumbbells down on the ground.

"A body like this doesn't make itself. Have to work for it, Novak." He replied. Branko was a model; primarily a fashion model.

He worked for a company called _Bondevik & Køhler_, which was an overpriced clothing line ran by two men; one a Dane who never paid the models correctly, and one who was always holed up in his home in Norway. So pretty much, it was only ran by the Danish owner, Mathias Køhler, who pretty much acted like the king of the world. From what Branko knew, Lukas Bondevik, the Norwegian guy that was supposed to be running the company along with Mathias, had taken a seemingly permanent hiatus from the business life, and stuck with coming up with designs for the clothing that was modeled and sold.

"I know. That's why I'm not even half as muscular as you are." Novak picked up a white towel off of a shelf and tossed it to the Montenegrin. "You're sweating like hell."

Branko wiped his face, chest, and arms with the towel, chuckling. "If I wasn't sweating, I would have overheated a long time ago."

Novak meandered over to the thermostat in the room and turned the temperature down a few more degrees. "Just to be safe, I'm bringing it down to 65. I can remember the last time you overheated from it being a bit too hot in here and you passed out bench pressing. Nearly choked yourself to death with the bar." The Serb remarked. Branko cringed.

"Yeah… Not going to happen again. That's why I don't bench press unless you're in the room to spot me."

"Would you like to bench press while I'm still here, then? This is the only time I'm going to be home tonight."

"Sure." Branko agreed, walking over to the bench press and examining the weights. "So why aren't you going to be home tonight?" He asked as he switched some of the heavy black discs.

"I'm going to be at the skate rink playing a pick up game with some of the guys in the Wilkes-Barre Scranton Penguins. Some NHL spotters are going to be there watching so… Yeah. Hoping to get a contract with at least Wilkes-Barre, unless Pittsburgh decides that I'm still worth something to the NHL. I don't think they really paid much attention to me when I played for the Caps*, except when I charged Sidney Crosby**." Novak answered. The blonde man was a professional hockey player. Or at least, he liked to call himself one.

He had only spent one year playing for the Washington Capitals in the National Hockey League before his contract had expired and he was sent into Free Agency. He was an exceptional player, but since he had some disciplinal issues when playing on the ice during his first few months playing in the NHL, his popularity with general managers, teams, and especially referees, had taken a nosedive. It seemed he had spent more time in the sin bin*** than actually skating, playing on the ice with his team. It had been two years since he had gotten an email from a general manager. Two years since he had been sent into Free Agency. He took every chance he had to get picked up from being a Free Agent, attending community pick up games with players in the AHL and various Free Agents in Pittsburgh where Novak resided.

"And this pick up game is supposed to last all night?"

"Game starts at nine, and is supposed to go until ten, unless we hit OT****. But I have to be there an hour before it starts so I can 1, get picked to play on a side, and 2, practice a bit because I haven't played a game in about a month."

"I have a photo shoot to attend at seven-thirty. That'd be…" Branko glanced at the clock in the room. "In an hour. You may as well take me to work, go to your game, do what you do best, and give me a call afterwards to see if I'm done with the shoot."

"Sounds fine by me. How many reps you want to do?" Novak asked, positioning himself behind the bench press as Branko laid down, placing his hands on the bar.

"Twenty will do. Then I'll take a shower and get ready."

Novak nodded slightly and watched the muscular man as he lifted the bar from it's rest and brought it down to his chest slowly, then rose it back up. He repeated the motion for about two minutes, reaching twenty with moderate ease.

"Alright." Branko said, standing from the bench. He wiped his hands on his shorts and sighed. "Shower time for me. You go gather your gear and what not."

Novak nodded and headed out of the workout room, going down the hall of the house and to his room. He meandered over to the room's closet, where his hockey gear resided. A few hockey sticks, his old Capitals jersey shirt, and various protective gear. A black helmet, large shoulder pads, elbow pads, gloves, padded pants, a protective cup, shin guards, and a mouth guard. He tossed each piece of equipment into a duffel bag, then walked over to his bed, setting the bag on it. He went through a drawer of his clothes dresser, grabbing a pair of the ankle-to-thigh socks that were standard hockey socks, and tossing them in the duffel bag along with his gear.

He looked around a bit, checking the closet once again and looking around the room, even under the bed, searching for a missing item. He sighed and went to Branko's room, entering without hesitation.

"Hey Branko?" He called out, standing outside the bathroom door.

"Yeah?" Branko answered from inside the shower.

"Do you know where I put my skates?"

"Which ones? You have two, if I can recall correctly."

"The white ones. The ones I bought last year. Not the ones I had when I was a Cap."

"I think they're in the laundry room."

"Why there?"

"I like to clean your gear every once in a while. Those skates start to stink after a while, you know."

"Point taken. I'll check the laundry room."

Novak walked out of the other man's room, heading to their small laundry room at one end of the hallway. He looked on the floor, and sure enough, his skates were sitting there, unlaced and spotless. He picked them up, and out of curiosity, brought them up to his face smelling them. He laughed a bit; Branko had definitely sprayed the inside of them with an abundance of air freshener.

He walked out of the laundry room, heading to Branko's room once again, standing outside the bathroom door once again. "Branko." He stated.

"You find them?" Branko asked.

"You Febreezed***** my skates."

Branko laughed "Yeah, I did. Glad you noticed."

"Thanks. Now my feet will smell like cherry blossoms. I'm sure the guys will love that."

"Who goes around smelling your feet, Novak?" Branko laughed.

"Everyone." Novak said sarcastically, laughing. "Nah. But thanks for cleaning these up. I'll be waiting out in the front room for you."

"Alright. See you in a bit."

Novak walked out of the room, heading to his bedroom and shoving his skates in his bag. He zipped up the bag and took it to the front room, where he sat on a recliner and sighed, grabbing his cell phone out of a pocket in his jeans and checking it. He had a text message from a friend of his, Alfred Jones, a player in the NHL on the Pittsburgh Penguins.

_Received at 6:13 PM_

_Hey man, you going to the pick up game?_

_Sent at 6:44 PM_

_Yeah. You going to be there?_

_Received at 6:46 PM_

_Yep. Helping the GM spot out good players._

_Sent at 6:47 PM_

_He have any interest in me?_

_Received at 6:51 PM_

_Sadly, no. But a few other GMs are going to be there. Heard the Caps GM is going to be there, also Sharks and Canucks. I think a few others just sent players. Think Bruins sent Chara to look for other DFM._

_Sent at 6:53 PM_

_Damn. I'm not DF, nor do I want to end up on the Sharks or the Caps. Canucks would be alright, but they have the Sedin bros and lot of other good players. I doubt they need another OFM._

_Received at 6:55 PM_

_I think the Caps have interest in getting you back though. By the way, you seen the video on youtube that's a tribute to your years with the Caps? Some fan of yours made it._

_Sent at 6:56 PM_

_Eh… Don't really want to be on the team that hated me 2 years ago, And no, I haven't seen it. Email it to me?_

_Received at 6:58 PM_

_Being on the Caps would be better than nothing though. I'll send the video to you later tonight._

_Sent at 7:00 PM_

_I'll see you at the rink Al. Got to head out._

Novak put his phone back in his pocket, standing up as Branko entered the room. His hair was slightly damp, and he had a smile on his freshly-shaved face. He wore a pair of jeans and a striped tank top, and had his prolific earrings in his ears.

"Ready, Mr. Model?" Novak asked, smirking. Branko chuckled.

"Yep. Let's go." He replied. The two headed out of the house, going to their shared car parked in the driveway. Novak tossed his duffel bag in the trunk, then got in the driver's seat while Branko got in the passenger's.

Novak drove his housemate and best friend to his workplace, then headed to the rink.

Branko entered the _Bondevik & Køhler _studios building, heading to the room where the photo shoot was to be held. He was approached by Mathias Køhler, who grinned at him and pat his shoulder.

"Alrighty, Branko. You're here. Let's get some make-up on you, your hair styled, and get you dressed, alright? Three outfits, and one underwear shoot. Fine by you? I thought so." The blonde Dane rambled quickly, not caring if Branko was up for doing four different shoots, one with only one garment of clothing. Not that he had too much of a problem with it; just the fact that Mathias seemed to be in such a giddy mood today. Branko didn't want the Danish man pulling any moves to take a grab at something that most definitely didn't belong to him.

Branko sighed slightly and walked to a make-up, hair, and dressing area, where he was sat in a chair and forced to let two women put some cover-up and slight eye shadow on his face. Once the make-up was done with, one of the women remained to comb his hair roughly, style it messily, and shove him off to get dressed by a third woman waiting behind a curtain. She was at least a friend of Branko's, and he wasn't too embarrassed to strip down in front of her.

"How're you doing today, Liz?" He asked as he removed his shirt.

"I'm fine. Mathias has been pretty restless and annoying today though. He make any grabs at you when you walked in the door?" Elizibeta asked. She was a Hungarian woman who had been working with Mathias since the business had started; if there was anyone to be trusted in the building, it was her.

"Thankfully, no." Branko replied, removing his pants, and furthermore his underwear. Elizibeta handed him a pair of white and blue checkered briefs that had the _Bondevik & Køhler _logo on each white square. Branko slipped them on, not surprised at how comfortable they were. The company's clothing articles were almost always made of great materials, and were top of the line for a reason.

"He's been all over the place with the other models. Made a grab at Gupta's ass about twenty minutes ago." Elizibeta said. "Anyways, go ahead and get the underwear shoot done with first. I'll be waiting here when you're done with that."

Branko nodded and walked out from behind the curtain, heading to the area where a large white screen was hung from the ceiling and laid across the floor. Lighting equipment and some professional-looking camera equipment sat in front of the white screen. A photographer awaited beside the camera.

Mathias grinned upon seeing Branko, and sat a simple wooden stool on the white screen.

"Have a seat. Back to the camera, look over your shoulder. Make it sexy. Hope you've been working those back muscles." He said, stepping off the white screen as Branko sat down on the stool. He spread his legs out to the side, and placed his hands on the edge of the seat that was hidden from the camera. He looked over his shoulder with a smirk on his face, staring at the camera through half-lidded eyes. A few photos were snapped, then Mathias walked back on the screen. Branko stood, sighing slightly. Sometimes, he hated his job, primarily for the fact that he knew no one cared about the clothing he wore as much as the lack of clothing he wore in some of the shoots.

"Lookin' good, Branko." Mathias' hand slapped against Branko's rear end, which made the Montenegrin turn to the man and point a finger at him.

"Touch me again, Mathias, and I swear you'll regret it."

"Hey, hey, hey now, Branko, wouldn't want to lose your job now, would you?" Mathias smirked. Branko clenched his fists.

"Cool down, babe." Mathias said. "Be glad I'm not doing worse to someone as good-looking as you."

"Ha. You make me laugh. Like you'd get any of this; I only go for men older than me, thank you very much. You're only twenty three. I'm twenty five."

"But you hardly look a day over twenty."

"I take pride in that, thank you very much."

"Reason I hired you, babe. Reason I hired you. Anyways, I'll take this stool now." Mathias grabbed the stool and set it aside. "Standing pose. Hands on your head or something like that. Facing towards the camera. Be playful. Mischievous."

Branko nodded, and forced himself to do the modeling with as much effort as he could muster.

Meanwhile, at the hockey rink, Novak was suited up in his gear, and was skating on the ice with the team he had been chosen to be on. The game hadn't started, but he was getting a feel for the ice.

He made a few quick turns and a full stop here and there, and he felt good. He sighed and approached one of the players on his team, a young man named Raivis Galante. He was a 19 year old who played for Wilkes-Barre Scranton, and was looking to get a shot in the NHL.

"Hey Galante, you're a winger, right?" Novak asked the other male, skating alongside him.

"Yeah. Left Winger. I've heard of you before, Novkovic. Played for the Caps, right?" Raivis replied, stopping at one corner of the rink.

"Yeah. Been two years though. Sucks being a Free Agent. I'm not getting paid, and I have to rely on my housemate for just about everything." Novak said, stopping as well.

"I can only imagine. I was lucky enough to get picked up by Wilkes-Barre right out of high school. Didn't play much, but still got paid. Now I'm one of the top guys on the team a year later, and I'm looking to go completely pro and play with the best of the best like you. I don't understand why you haven't gotten picked up from Free Agency."

"I don't understand it much either. I mean, my first few months with the Caps may have been shaky, but it really wasn't all that bad. Though by the end of the year I did have more minutes in penalties than I did in actual playing time. I got into too many fights, charged too much, hooked too much… Majority of my penalties were minors. I'd say 1 out of every 5 was major."

"And yet you somehow ended up on the list of top scorers on your team."

"Yeah, no kidding."

The two player's chatting was ceased by an air horn sounding from the hand of one of the officials. A few referees went out on the ice, one with a puck.

"Looks like we're getting started." Novak stated, skating to his place at the center of the rink, where a ref awaited for the drop of the puck. The opposing team's center skated over, and leaned down, ready for the puck drop. Novak leaned down as well, and let out a slow breath. The referee dropped the puck and skated back quickly. Novak slapped his stick against the ice, hitting the puck to the side for it to be picked up by a teammate.

He skated up to the opposing team's defensive zone after his teammate crossed the line into the zone, and was passed the puck. He took a quick wrist shot, only for it to be deflected off the blocker and into the possession of a defenseman.

When the defenseman was skating along the boards, Novak rammed into him from the side, successfully knocking him down with a legal check, and taking the puck before the man was even out of his own zone.

Novak glanced up and spotted an open teammate, Raivis, an passed it to him. The Latvian went for a one-timer, scoring as the puck shot into the back of the opposing net.

Novak grinned and skated to the other player, patting the short Latvian's helmet. "Nice shot, kid!"

"Nice pass, Novkovic. Got an assist under your belt!"

The game went on, and by the third period, the score was 4-3, Novak's team was winning. The puck was dropped with only thirty seconds left, and Novak rushed down the ice towards the opposing goal. He spun around an opposing player and was passed the puck, only a few feet from the goalie.

Novak brought the puck onto the flat part of his hockey stick, then flicked the puck right over the goalie's shoulder into the back of the net. As he raised his stick in celebration for his goal, he was blind-sided by an opposing player. Novak slid on the ground for a moment before getting up and looking to the defenseman who had hit him with the late check.

"Stay in Free Agency you cheating fuck." The opposing player cursed. Novak skate up, only a foot away from him.

"What? Can't accept a loss in an innocent little pick-up game?" He asked.

"If there's anyone who deserves a shot at getting into the NHL, it's not someone like you. That's for sure."

"Break it up, guys." A referee skated over, shoving the two away from each other. Novak sighed and skated to the bench of his team, and furthermore went into the locker room. He was glad the ref had stepped in when he did; that defenseman was close to getting the shit beat out of him. People with no acceptance for even one loss would never make it into something like the National Hockey League.

Novak, in the locker room, took off his gear piece by piece. Once he was stripped down, he took a quick shower, then got dressed in his usual clothes. He checked his phone; it was just past ten thirty. Branko would most likely be done with his photo shoots.

Novak, carrying his duffel bag, walked out of the locker room, heading to the main lobby of the building. Alfred, the Pittsburgh Penguins player who Novak had been texting prior to the match, meandered over.

"Man, that was a good game. Minimal penalties, legal hits, good goals. You were pretty impressive out there, I have to say. I wouldn't be shocked if you got a call or an email from a GM sometime soon." The American said. Novak smiled.

"I can only hope. I've got my anger problems, for the most part, under control. If I do get on a team, I'm going to prove to them that any amount of time I'm with them won't turn out to be like my bad run with the Caps."

"If my GM wanted you on the Penguins, I would totally support him, but sadly, he's looking to that Latvian kid. Galante."

"That kid's a hard worker. If he can agree to the terms of a contract, he should be valuable to Pittsburgh."

"Yeah, no kidding. Kid may be small, but he's quick, and he's go a lot of potential."

"Yeah… well, I best be going. I'll talk to you later, Al. Give me a call sometime."

"Sure thing. See you, Novkovic."

Novak walked out of the building, heading to his car. He got in and sighed, soon on his way to Branko's workplace. When he got there, Branko was waiting outside with a friend and coworker of his, Elizibeta.

Novak got out of the car and placed his arms on the roof. "Ready to go, Branko?" He asked. The Montenegrin nodded, saying a goodbye to Elizibeta, then hopping in the passenger's seat. Novak got back in the car, sighing.

"How was the shoot?" He asked as he began to drive.

"A living hell." Branko muttered.

"Why?"

"Mathias was really grabby today… Not only did he slap my ass when I was doing an underwear shoot, but he groped me when I was doing a shoot fully clothed. Only reason I didn't punch him in the face right the and there was because I don't want to lose my job. It's hard getting a decent modeling job around here."

Novak's grip on the steering wheel tightened in anger. "… You should quit working there if that's what Mathias does to you."

"I would, but how would we pay for the house? You not being on a team, and me not getting paid as much as I should be can hardly pay for anything. Remember the last time Mathias refused to pay me? We had to have Ivan pay our bills for the month."

"I still owe him for that…"

"I just have to endure for a little longer… I'm sure Lukas will be coming out of his business hiatus here soon and come back to the states in order to run _Bondevik & Køhler _properly_. _I'm sure once he's around, Mathias will start behaving and not sexually harassing his employees."

"I can only hope that Lukas comes back soon… You getting harassed like this needs to stop."

"I know it does, Novak… I know it does…"

**xxx**

*_Caps - _Short for Capitals [Washington Capitals; NHL team]

**"… _except for when I charged…" _- Charging is a penalty in ice hockey when a player takes more than three strides and/or jumps before hitting an opponent.

**_Sidney Crosby - _Star player on the Pittsburgh Penguins.

***_Sin Bin _- Penalty box

****_OT - _Overtime

*****_Febreezed - _Febreeze is a type of air freshener. :D


End file.
